


soft hearts

by ErinNovelist



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, However you wish to view it, M/M, Medical Tables, Mention of torture, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Restraints, Shiro's Fun Year, Uliro Week 2017, uliroweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinNovelist/pseuds/ErinNovelist
Summary: Having a soft heart in a cruel world is not a weakness but a strength. The moment Ulaz sees Shiro, he knows this to be true.





	soft hearts

**Author's Note:**

> For Uliro week 2017. Day 1 Endurance/Weakness.

There’s a prisoner strapped to his table.

Ulaz watches him with curious eyes as he writhes against the cold metal, pulling at the restraints anchored around his wrists and ankles, face alit with panic as seconds tick on and he is no sooner freer than before. He gasps great gulps of air for burning lungs, like an antidote to a poison he swallowed the moment he was strapped in. Sweat-slick fingers curl against the table’s surface as they try to find purchase against the slippery surface, desperate for anything to help him… _anyone_.

“Please, _p-please_!” he begs as the drones march about, tugging the restraints tighter until the purple bands bite into pale skin, blood bubbling up and dripping onto the table. “Please _don’t do this_!”

There is a prisoner strapped to his table, and he is scared.

Haggar stands beside him, a soft smile gracing her face, but Ulaz has no needs for theatrics or her whimsical wanderings, choosing to find the facts for his procedures. “You requested me?” he asks her, still staring at the prisoner.

This is no ordinary prisoner, Ulaz knows this. He’s seen enough of the gladiator matches to know that he is Champion, the prime fighter in the Arena. The last match had ended only moments ago, and yet it still does not explain why Champion is on his table, not an injury in sight for him to treat. Ulaz is a doctor, though it is a term used loosely as he is more of an engineer than a medical professional with a duty to build and break rather than care and heal.

When prisoners are strapped to that table, improvements on their weaknesses are required. When prisoners are strapped to that table, their bodies have broken, and now Ulaz must build them better ones. When prisoners are strapped to that table, there is something that needs to be fixed.

The prisoner on that table does not look broken. He does not have a glaring mistake to be corrected. He is simply strapped to that table, wide eyes and a pounding heart, the only weakness to his body is a crack in his voice as it breaks over syllables and sobs, words and whimpers, while he struggles to find the strength to support his growing panic. The prisoner strapped to his table knows what this room is, knows who Ulaz is, and knows what it means to be here.

“Please,” Champion says as he approaches, “I’ll do anything you want, just _please_ don’t do this. I’m fine, I’m not hurt, please, please, I promise—”

“Remain calm,” Ulaz advises. His voice is quiet, a harsh contrast to the usual gruff orders expected from him, though the prisoner does not listen, continuing his struggle with renewed vigor.

“He still refuses to kill.” Haggar’s piercing gaze meets Champion’s terrified one. “Emperor Zarkon has no use of a gladiator who can’t even muster the strength to finish his battles. A weak mind has no place in the arena.”

Ulaz knows what she means. _Fix his weak mind and make him stronger._ Weak minds, the thought makes his knees tremble. Weak minds are the trickiest of problems to fix as there is no work-arounds or loopholes he can turn to; he can only take a blade to the mind and slice it up, bits and pieces floating absently in the dark until he stitches them back together in a colorful patchwork that Haggar approves of.

The Champion knows this too.

He screams and shouts, knowing what is to come, knowing what Ulaz must do. To go under the knife and come out alive, but never the same. Other prisoners have gone to this room and couldn’t even remember their own name after the procedure. The Champion has seen this first hand.

“I trust you’ll do what is necessary,” Haggar tells him, and he can only nod in understanding before she takes her leave, the droids following after her.

As she leaves, the Champion is quick to renew his begging. “Please, please! I’ll kill, please, I’ll kill. Just _don’t_.”

(Don’t touch my head. Don’t mess with my mind. Don’t break me. Don’t build me. Please.)

Under normal circumstances, Ulaz would reach for his knife and begin the process, ignoring the prisoner’s cries of pain and their pleas for redemption. Even with a twisted gut, he’d do what was necessary to survive, pleasing Haggar (and Kolivan) with his work, even if he hates himself a little more each day.

But this is no normal situation.

The Champion is not like those other weak-minded prisoners, those who fight in the arena with a _kill-or-be-killed_ outlook. Champion does not do this. Champions refuses to kill even after his opponent is incapacitated. Haggar had it wrong. This, Ulaz knows, is not a sign of a weak mind but of a soft heart, and having a soft heart in a cruel world is not a weakness but a strength.

Ulaz is conflicted. He cannot stand there and pretend that an operation was made if Champion will return to the arena the same way he left it. Haggar must see a difference, people must take notice, but this prisoner does not deserve to be broken.

With soft, slow movements, Ulaz leans over the squirming prisoner, hot breath tickling his ear. “Killing is the only way to survive,” he tells the Champion, who stills with the threat that proximity to Galra usually brings. “If you cannot kill, I cannot help.”

Champion’s wide, terrified eyes stare up at him. Ulaz has his attention.

“What?” Champion asks, voice still shaky.

“You must learn to kill,” Ulaz continues. “But you must learn to kill with purpose. What separates the weak hearts form the strong is why you kill. You do not slaughter, Champion, you kill for mercy, for justice, for peace, and for freedom.”

Champion nods and shudders under the weight of his words. “I… I…”

“Do not mistake a soft heart for a weak one. Having a soft heart but the strength to think around it is the only way to survive in the arena.” Ulaz clicks the switch on the restraints, releasing the Champion as he slowly regains his bearings. “You will return to your cell, you will gather your wits, and tomorrow you will fight.”

“I don’t want too.” Champion’s voice was strong, not wavering in the slightly.

“But you must, or you will never survive.” He helps the prisoner sit up on the table. “Spare them, don’t slaughter. That’s the way you must work if you ever hope to live after this.”

“I can’t kill innocent people—”

“Then you will be killed.” Ulaz places a reassuring hand on the Champion’s shoulder, who is too wired to worry. “Do you want to live, Champion?”

“Of course—”

“Then learn to survive.”

The prisoner is no longer strapped to his table, and Ulaz has done his duty. Words can fix the broken as much as a doctor can, and that would have to be good enough for now.

Knowing Haggar isn’t one to lay around and check on his progress, Ulaz has no qualms escorting a silent Champion back to his cell, who won’t even look at him until the cell door is closed tightly behind him and his shoulders start shaking.

The sight makes Ulaz sick. He does not like seeing the strong show weakness, and there is no doubt that Champion is strong. He just hopes that his soft heart does not break and the cracks start to show on the outside, and he’ll be forced to build him up and break him down in ways no prisoner should suffer from.

Whatever happens, Ulaz just needed to have hope.

Besides, who knows what that little prisoner will be capable of?

….Who knows.


End file.
